


Curtains

by doomcanary



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcanary/pseuds/doomcanary





	Curtains

“Is everything all right, sire?”

“Perfectly fine, thankyou, Baldric,” says Arthur, giving the scruffy little man a steely stare. He absolutely does not look over his shoulder to what's hidden behind the door, because it's a blissed-out Merlin draped across his bed, and the curtains are billowing in a breeze that isn't there.

“Well? What is your business, man?”

“Your father wishes to see you, sire, as soon as possible.”

“Very well. You may go.” Arthur slams the door curtly in Baldric's face. Where Uther got the unwashed little toerag or why he lets him shuffle around the castle looking like that he has no idea, but it does give him some dreadful suspicions as to why it was that Uther first chose to saddle him with Merlin.

Not, he reflects, as he goes back to the bed, that that has turned out all bad. He leans over Merlin; Merlin's eyes are rippling with golden light, and he gives Arthur a smile that goes straight to his groin. The curtains swell and billow even further, as if the invisible wind is rising. Half against his will, he sits down, putting one hand on the pillow so that his face is close to Merlin's.

“Stop that,” he says.

“I'm not doing it,” says Merlin.

There's a pause, and then Arthur leans down and kisses him, and as he does it he hears the sound of the curtains dropping back and brushing against the bed. But most of his senses are occupied with Merlin; with his soft mouth, his determined hands, his rich musky scent. And with the fluid, unreachable something that is all around him in the air, and in his breath and his voice and his eyes. He wants to ignore his responsibilities, throw them aside and dive into the same river Merlin is adrift on; touching him when he's flying on the magic like this is like making love to Albion itself, dissolving himself into something vast and eternal. Merlin seems to have gone somewhere deep inside himself, and Arthur feels as if he's leading him down too, searching for something; as if Merlin is the bridge that will lead him into greatness.

But he pulls back; a prince's responsibilities cannot be denied. Merlin sighs lazily, not disappointed but deprived of the touch; and slowly the golden light fades from his eyes.

“Uther again?” he says.

“Who else.”

“You should get dressed, then.” He glances lingeringly down at Arthur's bare chest, and smiles again. Arthur is wearing nothing but his breeches, and they're only half laced up. A trail of light-coloured hair leads invitingly down into them.

“One of these days, I won't bother.”

“You've been spending too much time with that upstart boy Merlin.”

Arthur grins; a rare, genuine smile. “Get this place clean and tidy,” he says. “And don't be too quick about it.”

 _Be here when I get back_ , is what Merlin hears. Arthur gets up, and picks up a shirt from the back of a chair. Merlin watches him dress, propped up on one elbow; he follows the flow of muscle in his shoulders as he raises his arms, admires the elegant, solid curves of his backside and his thighs.

Arthur puts on a worn-in leather doublet, boots; doesn't bother with a cloak. It's not quite insolence, but Uther won't miss it. He turns and goes to the door; pauses with his hand on the bolt.

“Curtains, Merlin,” he says, without turning round.

Merlin smiles, and the curtains drift back to where they were.


End file.
